


'cause i want, i want, i want—

by severalgeckos



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Feelings, Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Pacifist Ending, Slow Burn, and i really mean a SLOW burn, rk900 deserves to be happy, rk900’s called cain, they took a perfectly good android and gave him depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severalgeckos/pseuds/severalgeckos
Summary: RK900 spends a year adjusting to his new life, and all of the problems that come with it.





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you _want,_ really?” 

RK900 didn’t look towards the other android as he spoke, opting to watch the nighttime buzz of Detroit from his apartment’s balcony. The way the lights flickered, moved, pulsing in such a constant yet unpredictable way— it kept him… grounded. In the moment. It gave his system something to focus on when everything else became too much.

He spent a lot of his time out here nowadays.

“RK?”

A hand rested against his arm with the same gentle cautiousness one would use with a cornered animal.

Connor knew what he was doing wasn’t healthy. Isolating himself up here, outside in the frigid late-January winter with the frost seeping into him like an illness. Avoiding his own thoughts and emotions in favor of blissful numbness.

Unhealthy, but practical. A remnant of his original programming, perhaps.

“Why are you here?” RK900’s voice was calm and measured as he replied— when _wasn’t_ it?

He was trying to dodge the question and they both knew it.

Connor paused for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. “You haven’t replied to any of the messages I have sent you. You haven’t left your home since I visited last, and you haven’t went into stasis for over a week.” RK900 finally met his predecessor’s gaze, only to find an unfamiliar emotion in the other’s eyes. Not disappointment, or guilt, or anger; something intangible, something that his stunted emotional knowledge couldn’t identify.

“That is all correct, yes,” he replied, voice unwavering. “I don’t see why that warranted a personal visit. I believe I’m capable of maintaining my own health and wellbeing.”

 _Ah,_ wrong answer.

The other android’s brow furrowed, either from frustration or thought. “You aren’t just a machine. You never were.” He paused, LED momentarily spinning yellow. “You have a life, and a conscience, and you’re allowed to… to feel, and want, and _live._ ” 

RK900 tapped out a constant pattern on the balcony rail, an outlet for the uncomfortable sensation that thrummed through his system at Connor’s words. He didn’t _want_ to want. He didn’t want irrational emotions or desires— he only wanted to be, well, a machine. Something that could fulfill a task, something that didn’t need to think any unnecessary thoughts.

Thoughts about how much more successful it’s predecessor was. Thoughts about how, in the absence of a job, it had no real purpose or reason to exist.

“Why are you here, Connor?” There was too much force, too much venom in his tone. Strange, how the negative emotions came so much more easily to him.

An uncomfortable pause. The silence was heavy, overbearing between them, drawn out until Connor broke it with a tired sigh. Finally relenting to RK900’s frigid rejection of help.

“There is an opening at the DPD, working in a partnership with another detective.” RK900’s posture stiffened at that, and he’s sure the other android noticed.

“I’m not attempting to force your hand, but I personally believe it would be… beneficial, for you to have something to work on,” he said. His tone, his body language, his choice of words— he was treating him like a jumper on the ledge, speaking carefully and trying to guide him back to safety. “In my own experience, working helped me process it all, and it is my hope that it could also—“ 

“I’ll do it.”

Connor froze, staring at him as if he expected him to take it back at any moment.

“You want the job?” RK900 nodded once, keeping his gaze fixed on the city.

“It would be refreshing to commit to a task I know I am able to perform,” he stated calmly.

 

* * *

 

 

This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he was told his partner was “a little high-strung.”

The man in front of him was, objectively, very far past the point of being high-strung. His heart rate was considerably high, his jaw was clenched tight, and he seemed only moments away from having a (second?) outburst.

He also, to RK900’s irritation, appeared fully committed to ignoring any attempts at communication. 

“Detective Reed,” he repeated, emphasizing it with a step towards his desk. “I don’t know what occurred before my arrival that upset you, but it would be beneficial for both of us if you could focus on the task at hand.”

The man— Gavin Reed, he had been told— looked up from the screen in front of him with a less than friendly expression. “Did they program you to be a fucking moron?” he spat, earning little reaction from RK900. “ _You’re_ what ‘upset’ me, dipshit.”

“I apologize that our partnership isn’t to your liking, Detective, but I’m afraid you will have to adapt to it. Captain Fowler insisted that I work with an officer with adequate experience in the field, and it seems you are currently the only seasoned detective without a partner. Simply put, you are effectively stuck with me.” 

“Yeah?” Gavin pushed himself out of his seat to stand at his full height. “Fowler happen to tell you I fuckin’ _hate_ all of you tin cans, huh?” 

RK900 smiled placidly, acutely aware of their difference in height and build as he leaned over him. “That did not happen to come up in our conversation, no. Would you like to know why?” The Detective opened his mouth to retort, fists clenched at his sides, before he was cut off.

“I do not care,” he calmly continued. “You are undoubtedly acquainted with my predecessor, Connor,” Gavin’s stress levels spiked at the mention of that name, “and I suspect that you have wrongfully assumed that I will be as amiable as he is.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards almost imperceptibly, RK900 gaining the slightest bit of satisfaction from getting under Reed’s skin. “I was not designed to be compliant, Detective, and I do not intend to change any time soon.”

It was no surprise when Gavin stormed off in a huff, roughly shoving him in the shoulder as he passed. Despite the fact that a functional relationship between him and his partner would be ideal for his work, RK900 still felt pleased about their encounter. 

Connor would probably have called it being “smug.”

 

 

—

  


“Robocop,” his partner snapped, eying him from the desk opposite of him. “You got an actual name?”

The LED on his temple cycled into yellow as his brow furrowed. Cyberlife didn’t have a chance to name the RK900 series before it was shut down, and he hadn’t exactly _needed_ a name since being awoken. It had come to mind a few times, sure, but Connor never asked about it and frankly, there wasn’t really anyone else who RK900 talked to before this point.

Gavin’s eyes narrowed as he watched the android, body language showing clear signs of distrust. “Y’know, if Cyberlife didn’t name their newest metal shithead, I’d be more than happy to give you one. ‘Plastic Prick’ already got claimed by your, uh, big brother, but I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“Cain.”

“...Come again?”

RK900— _Cain_ , straightened his posture, holding his calm, passive demeanor. “That is my name. Cain.”

The detective frowned, then opened his mouth as if to ask something before deciding against it, turning back to his work with an irritated huff. “Fuckin’ androids…”

Cain might not have been entirely happy with his partnership, but something felt different about him now. A name and a sense of purpose giving him more stability to his identity, perhaps.

Whatever it was, he pushed it to the back of his mind as he focused on the job in the front of him. A thought for another day.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since Cain started working at the precinct and his job was going better than anticipated. 

Despite their less-than-friendly introduction, being in a partnership with Gavin Reed wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. Contrary to his unkempt appearance, the detective was more than proficient at his job. He also, to Cain’s satisfaction, learned quickly that the android wasn’t an obedient pet that could be ordered around at his leisure. Even without deviancy, the RK900 model was programmed to prioritize it’s mission first and foremost, taking requests as suggestions rather than orders.

However, all of their prior work had been paperwork centered in the office workspace. While the lack of contact with the detective was refreshing, he knew that directly working together was inevitable.

And now, the inevitable was here.

They had just pulled up in front of a home in a cozy, secluded suburban area of Detroit after an uncomfortably tense car ride. An eight-year-old boy, Jacob Herrera, had gone missing that morning while playing in his yard, and they had been assigned to the investigation.

Much to Cain’s confusion, Gavin remained seated in the car after turning off the engine, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and gazing at the quaint little home with an uneasy expression. “Is something the matter, Detective Reed?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Startled out of his thoughts, the man shifted focus to him while appearing torn between telling him to fuck off and giving a genuine answer. “It’s…” He paused, shifting uncomfortably before running a hand over his face with a sigh. “I don’t like cases where there’s kids involved.”

_Interesting._

Gavin cleared his throat after a moment, turning away from the android to open his door. “Forget about it, Robocop. Don’t expect you to understand,” he muttered, cynicism dripping from his voice.

A frazzled, red-eyed woman answered the door when they knocked. “We’re with the Detroit Police Department, ma’am, we’re here to ask about—“

“I know why you’re here,” she interjected, voice wavering as her eyes began to water. “Just… Come in.”

Cain observed the family’s belongings as the detective spoke with the boy’s mother. They appeared to be an ideal family; photographs from vacations and events lining the mantel, toys tucked neatly away in the corner, and a large, long-haired cat curled up under a ray of sunlight.

(His gaze may have lingered a little too long on the cat, but he remained seated. There was a job to be done.)

“I’m so sorry, but my wife is upstairs making the necessary calls to the rest of our family. Besides, she was at work when he…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath to regain herself.

“Not a problem,” Gavin reassured her, and Cain noted how… soothing, he sounded. A complete polar opposite to his attitude at the precinct. Since they stepped through the door, he had been nothing but calm and comforting. _Again, interesting._

“We just need to know anything you remember from this morning. Even if it’s not much, it’ll be a huge help for us, Mrs. Herrera.”

The woman wiped her tears away and nodded. “It happened too fast. We were playing in the snow outside and then when I went in to get one of his toys he was just… gone,” she explained. “The only thing I noticed was that he took his doll cat with him. It was— _is_ his favorite.”

 

Frankly, it was practically nothing to go off of— no witnesses, no nearby cameras, nothing. Yet Gavin still gently rested his hand on the mother’s shoulder as they left, continuing to reassure her that he would bring their child back safely. Standard protocol, of course, but how he was able to sound so genuine and hopeful was beyond him. 

“What now?” he asked after the detective had settled into the driver’s seat. Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose, the steady exterior gone after they were out of eyesight of the parents.

“We go back to the precinct. I’ll look up recent hospital patients and try to find a lead, and you… You can do whatever the fuck the dumbasses at Cyberlife made you to do, I guess. I don’t fuckin’ know,” he replied, irritation slipping into his tone in the latter half.

“I don’t mean to impose on your plan, but I believe I would be more suited to assessing hospital records, Detective Reed.” Cain smiled serenely as the other man shot him a loathsome glance. “That is, after all, exactly what the ‘dumbasses at Cyberlife’ made me to do.”

Gavin opened his mouth to respond before firmly shutting it, opting to turn on the car and loudly turn up the volume of the radio as he drove back to the DPD building.

  


* * *

  


It was two days after, and they still didn’t have anything on the case.

There was no clear motive, no suspects, no evidence— _nothing._ Absolutely nothing. A virtually perfect family with no enemies had had their child taken from them, and there was not a single thing they could find to help. All they had was a description of what he was wearing when he had gone missing, and a theory from Cain that the boy knew his abductor due to the fact that he had taken his doll with him.

Put honestly, the situation was looking extremely bleak.

But now, at 2:30 a.m., the case was starting to become overshadowed by another problem.

Detective Reed had worked until well past 3 a.m. for the past two nights, and _then_ came into work only two or three hours after. There was a small mountain of empty coffee cups in the trash can next to his desk, and the dark circles around his eyes had only gotten worse from sleep deprivation. Judging by the half-finished cup beside his computer, he was planning on continuing his streak.

Cain’s LED briefly cycled yellow before he made the executive decision that Gavin Reed was _not_ about to compromise his performance and health for a few extra hours of work.

He stood up from his chair and took a few short steps to stand beside him, back straight and shoulders set. “Detective Reed,” he started, getting the man’s attention. “I’m not sure if you have realized this, but lack of sleep will _severely_ impact the quality of your work.”

Gavin blinked up at him slowly, appearing to almost be in disbelief at what he was saying. “Okay,” he drawled, attempting to turn back around in his chair before he was calmly, yet firmly, turned back to face the android.

“I’m sorry, I believe I was, hm. ‘Beating around the bush,’” Cain said, leaning over slightly. “What I’m trying to say, is that you’re jeopardizing this case by attempting to force in extra work hours that contribute absolutely nothing to our investigation.”

A few tense moments passed before Gavin finally replied. “Go fuck yourself,” he spat out through gritted teeth. “At least I’m _working._ You got something better to share, huh? Some breakthrough you found with that perfect fuckin’ computer of yours?”

Silence.

“Detective Reed,” he continued calmly. “You are going to go home now, and you will return to work when you are rested and at least somewhat capable of doing your job.”

“Don’t act like you give a single fuck about my health, tin can,” he sneered.

Cain leaned closer, with the same impassive smile that he always had during these arguments. “Believe me, Detective, I couldn’t care less about your wellbeing. However, you are exactly as useful as an incompetent child when you are forcibly keeping yourself from sleep. So, I am going to drive you home and ensure that you are rested enough to do a halfway decent job tomorrow. Have I made myself clear?”

Gavin’s stress levels spiked, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides before he finally relented. 

“You’re not driving me home, plastic.”

“You don’t really have a choice in this matter, I’m afraid.”

  


—

  


_A cat person._ That’s the term that Cain’s database supplied for Gavin when he saw the three felines from the hallway.

Along with _cute_ and _soft_ for the cats themselves.

The cat person in question dropped to his knees— Cain wondered how much of that was purposeful and how much was literal falling— and pulled a small, fluffy ginger tabby into his lap, mumbling little praises to it in a low, soft voice.

Cain cleared his throat and caused Gavin to turn around sharply as if he forgot the android was there. “I’ve set your alarm for eight hours from now. I will inform Fowler that you will be slightly late, but that your circumstances excuse it,” he stated clearly, hands clasped behind his back.

“You set my alarm?”

“Yes, I figured you would more than likely forget, so I—“

“Damn creepy machines,” he muttered, picking up the tiny cat in his lap and standing to walk back to his room. “I’ll get my fuckin’... beauty sleep or whatever you wanted. Lock the door on your way out,” he called over his shoulder as he retreated.

As he moved to leave, a large, slightly overweight cat reached up and put its front paws up onto his thighs.

 _Cute,_ he thought once again.

He gently, tentatively scratched the cat behind its ear before he left, a small smile remaining on his face until he was down the street from the small house.

  


—

  


Cain worked through the night, but as it turned out, it wouldn’t be necessary.

Around noon, a battered AX400 model walked into the police station with Jacob Herrera by her side. The boy appeared to be in decent health; although dirty and slightly shaken, he had no physical wounds on him.

  
“It… says it didn’t _mean to?”_ Gavin asked as he watched the android through the one-way glass of the interrogation room.

Cain nodded. “The AX400 claims she was only trying to help what she saw as an abandoned child in the snow. Then, when she saw the missing child reports, she realized what had happened and came here to bring him back.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably. “It appears that she suffered damage to her processors. The marks were hidden under her hood, but she has signs of being almost fatally attacked in the past.”

“So it was just too hurt to realize what it was doing,” the detective replied and crossed his arms. “I’ll be damned.”

“It isn’t too uncommon, really. Connor informed me that he has a connection to Jericho who can get her the treatment she needs.”

Gavin was silent for a moment, almost as if he was thinking over what had been said. “Good for her,” he said curtly, and turned away to leave the room.

Cain wondered if that statement was partially genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, i’m so, so lazy... i have the next chapter almost finished to make up for it, hopefully it’ll be ready in a day or two? anyways uhhh thanks for the sweet comments, i suck at replying but i love them all tysm. and as always hmu on tumblr with good good mini prompts for me to do writing warmups, yknow, like a Real Writer lmao

**Author's Note:**

> title from eric by mitski (a VERY good song for this pairing imo....)
> 
> i’m trying to get better with prose and i only have a little over a month until i have to shift focus to school and everything that comes with that, so... perfect time to try a long, multi-chapter fic? i’m sorry if this gets messy, i’m usually a poetry/one-shot writer and this isn’t my territory, to say the least
> 
> i originally wasn’t going to name rk900, or i was going to stick with calling him nines, but then i thought of cain and like... i’m weak for on the nose name symbolism lmao
> 
> anyways come talk to me about dbh on tumblr @rk90o..... i have a lot of headcanons and thoughts about david cage’s shitty game


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